Casehistory
by TheSoulOfAStrawberry
Summary: Armin has been too caught up in his schoolwork his whole life to know trouble when it falls at his feet during a Friday-afternoon teenage fist-fight. And yet, trouble though he may be, Eren Jaeger, in a whirlwind of anger, social anxiety, caring smiles and sandwich shops, is one massive contradiction Armin just can't seem to tear himself away from.
1. Exposition

No one had ever bothered to tell Armin that Eren Jaeger was trouble.

It was partially his own fault, he supposed, for falling in with him and Mikasa. Somewhere between overhearing his mum telling the neighbours back when they first moved to Berlin that his Gymnasium was "the good one, even if it's in the rough part, y'know" and having his head so far into a stack of books that he forgot to make friends with anyone, Armin became convinced that his life would be pretty normal, and that the people in it were pretty normal too, if not often entirely inconsequential.

Even once Eren had succeeded in turning his entire life upside-down, there would still be a lot of people who couldn't see Eren as Armin did; as the whirlwind of anger, bad puns and fast food. This was because Armin noticed too much. Or, rather, he couldn't help but notice Eren and only Eren.

Eren and Mikasa joined Armin's class part way through the term, far enough away from the Abitur for them to slip seamlessly in to the course of work, but close enough for other students to sink away from them in favour of revising economics or political science. Mikasa had hold of Eren's hand as they stood in front of the French teacher on that fateful Tuesday morning, and Armin found himself mildly irritated that Jean was poking him, concerned as to whether that cute girl was with that weird-looking boy.

No one would assume that Eren Jaeger was or ever would be trouble because for the first few months of his integration at the school, he didn't say anything to anyone. At first Armin thought it was merely because no-one talked to him. The way he held himself in his worn-out jeans said he wasn't interested, his messy hair said he wasn't bothered, and those piercing eyes of his- one green, one yellow, with tiny pupils that drew any glance out to a stare- said he was different. That was until Marco asked him how he felt about the book that had been assigned for German as they were packing up to leave, and he just shook his head.

"No… You've not read it?" Marco looked confused, and Armin saw Eren blush as he shook his head again.

"So you have…? I… Ah, I'm sorry I asked, nevermi-"

"Oi, Eren," came a voice, and Eren's head whipped round so fast that the way the tufts of hair at his crown pointed changed, "What's your problem? Marco's just trying to be nice, jeez." Jean had his rucksack over one shoulder, and was leant on Marco's desk in a way that, in any other situation, would be the pose for asking Marco to go to the cinema at the weekend.

The moment in which Eren turned back around was the moment Armin knew he was about to watch something unfold. It really wasn't anything to do with Jean: it merely became obvious that Eren's reactions in social environments were different to anyone else's. Something eventually would have antagonised what came next, as judging by the way Mikasa advanced towards them from the corner by the window, this sort of thing had happened before.

"What the hell man, don't ignore me. You're kind of rude-"

It was almost a textbook fight, if it weren't for the fact that Eren was the least textbook boy in existence. Jean put his hand on Eren's shoulder, and the moment it made contact, the shorter boy went rigid and slapped his hand away. There was a ruckus as Jean tripped on his own feet and his thigh made contact with the table behind him: an action which only served to further knock his balance and create a painful metallic clatter as his displaced the chair into the opposite table leg.

That was it. Jean lunged at Eren, sending him sprawling over his own chair and landing at Armin's feet. He squirmed violently as the room erupted into chaos- Jean shouting at Eren, Marco tugging at Jean's shoulder, Armin and Mikasa trying to pull the pair apart while people who had been in the process of leaving for the weekend came to see who had started fighting. All the while, Eren had said nothing.

It was a strange place to have an epiphany, a shouting match cum teenage brawl, but seeing how suddenly violent Eren became when in close proximity of a person made something click in his brain. He understood on a basic level that Eren had social anxiety, but the events of the following split second reminded him that he'd only ever have a basic understanding of how Eren's mind worked.

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME HORSEFACE!"

And that was the first time Armin heard Eren speak, a moment in which his actions matched up directly with the fire in his scowl. It was also the first time he'd ever seen Jean get punched so squarely in the face. It did the trick, as Jean yet out a startlingly high-pitched yelp, and Eren saw his opportunity to bolt out the classroom door, stumbling slightly as he went. Mikasa, as Armin would come to learn, was hot on his heels.

Armin didn't have to get involved. He knew that. But Eren had left his bag, and Armin's heart was pounding with adrenaline from having Jean push him away during the kerfuffle.

Jean could have told him that Eren Jaeger was trouble, and seen as Armin kind of liked Jean, he might have taken his advice and stayed back. However, this was not to be. Perhaps it was just that Armin's fate was tied to Eren's, but maybe Jean was just a bit of a blockhead when it came to cause and effect. Either way, Jean's reaction when Armin picked up Eren's rucksack as well as his own was not the right one, holistically-speaking.

"Armin, what the fuck?"

"I know you don't mean it Jean," his hair flicked as he turned around, "But sometimes you can be a real douchebag."

Armin was too preoccupied to appreciate the satisfaction of leaving a room on a line like that; particularly to a boy he was often told was considered to be one of the popular boys (which never made sense, seen as Jean only really hung out with Marco and Armin). If it weren't for the fact it was a Friday and half the students had already disappeared to catch the buses going out of town, Armin might have been a temporary legend the following morning.

Armin found Eren and Mikasa sat under the stairwell a few corridors down from their classroom.

"Um… Hi, sorry. I… Eren, you forgot your bag."

There were a number of reactions Armin had been expecting from the newbie with social anxiety in this situation, but a smile was not one of them. He was taken aback, particularly as beside him, Mikasa seemed to have doubled in her wariness of Armin since leaving the classroom.

One thing Armin did notice was that Eren's left hand had hold of his right wrist. Or, rather, he didn't remark this until he let go to take his bag from Armin, who was still a little frazzled from being smiled at by this strange yet ever more intricate individual, and there was blood on his finger. Fresh, crimson blood.

"Eren, are you OK?" Armin wouldn't admit he panicked, but some sense of culpability kicked in along with his hyper-logical though processes and he found himself dropping to his knees. However, he realised he might have made a mistake as Eren shrank back, tensing.

"I'm sorry- ah, should I go?"

Eren held his eye contact for a few seconds, before, surprisingly, shaking his head.

"So you're OK with this kid seeing this?" Mikasa gestured to his wrist. With her softly-spoken yet sharp tone of speech, this almost sounded like a threat, but something about the way she looked at him and how he trusted her told Armin otherwise.

"It's Armin, by the way," he said, quieter this time. He could feel himself calming down as the noise of the students down the corridor lessened.

Tentatively, Eren removed his hand from his wrist and peeled the bloodied sleeve of his jumper back. To begin with, Armin was confused as to how a simple grapple could draw blood. It was then that he made out, underneath the already dried blood, the straight cuts running in a neat little row, and his heart dropped.

Between them, Eren and Jean had managed to reopen wounds that Eren had inflicted upon himself.

It was only then that the full weight of what Armin didn't understand became apparent to him.

Eren hadn't said anything, but he had given him those most warming smile even at a time when he was feeling vulnerable and pumping with anger; and, in doing so, had made Armin feel more accepted and valued than he'd felt in a long time. How could someone who held someone like him in such high esteem hate themselves so much as to do this to themselves?

The worst part was the fleeting glance Eren shot Armin that was dripping in guilt. Eren had no reason to feel guilty. It pained Armin to think he did, on top of valuing himself so little. A more assertive Armin would have told Eren exactly how much he meant to him: only a tiny fraction of which Armin was aware of. Real Armin, however, simply lowered his gaze and tried to banish the lump in his throat that forewarned the embarrassing baby tears for which Armin was infamous.

In hindsight, he probably could have backed out then. He often considered how Eren might have reacted to that, having put enough faith in Armin to let him stay, and he hated to think about it: about a world in which to Eren, he was a mere stranger. That said, Mikasa had told Armin that what he did for Eren may have been natural kindness for him, but for Eren was something much, much more.


	2. Abstract

"Eren," Mikasa's hair fell in front of her eyes, "We need to get that seen to. Armin, is there a nurse's room or something here?"

Mikasa was looking at Armin expectantly. He was expected to say something, but if he was honest, he wasn't sure the little room next to the office that he'd used back in his second year was something Eren would like- if it was even open at this time of day. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes, already, since the school day had ended.

"Um…" Armin couldn't quite tear his eyes away from Eren's wrist, but forced himself too in order to open his rucksack. "I… Ahem," he cleared his throat and lowered the tone of his voice, masking his upset the best he could, "I… Er, Eren, you don't like that sort of stuff, I mean… People. Um. It's just…" He found what he was looking for, buried deep in the inside pocket of his bag. Thankfully, he'd not had to use it for a few years. "I have this, if it's easier."

Eren and Mikasa both looked somewhat surprised to see him holding up a first aid kit. With his free hand, Eren lunged for his own bag, taking out one of his notepads. Armin flinched as he ripped out the back page, and it became obvious what was happening once Mikasa shoved a pen in front of Eren's nose, which he took without thanks.

Armin could read upside-down as he wrote. _Why have you got one of those?_

Eren held the paper up, and Armin took a moment to appreciate how well his scribbly handwriting seemed to represent this messy-haired contradiction sat in front of him.

"Um," Armin began, blushing a little more, "It don't really need it anymore, it's just… I don't know, when I was younger I got pushed around for being… Well, me."

Eren was writing again. G_ive me their names and they won't bother you again_ he held up, a shy but cheeky grin spreading across his lips.

"Ah… No, I think they had to re-sit the year too many times and dropped out. Or at least, one of them did. Um… Anyway, Mikasa will be angry if I let you get into any more fights," he giggled nervously under the gaze of the girl in question. Eren was holding his gaze now, which was strange. He'd been avoiding it before.

Eren definitely had heterochromia, and Armin couldn't help but find this beautiful.

"Uh… I-I guess you probably want Mikasa to do this?"

Eren shook his head, not as sure as before. There was a moment in which Mikasa's eyes flashed dangerously, before she seemed to acquiesce, moving out of the way so Armin could shuffle next to Eren, not daring to look up from breaking open the clasp of the first aid box as he realised he could smell Eren's deodorant.

On Monday morning, Jean would still be upset with him for having called him a douchebag, and Armin would apologise, before explaining that he still meant it because "Jean, you idiot, Eren's got selective mutism and you yelled at him about it.". Jean would wear that guilty expression of his that Armin had once found somewhat endearing, before muttering some English swear words to himself and asking Armin what he should do to make it up. At no point, would Armin mention how close he had been to Eren Jaeger: how he had felt him tense up as Armin took his wrist before slowly, slowly, slowly trusting him and loosening into Armin's gentle grip; how he could feel Eren's breath on his fringe as he dabbed at the cuts with non-alcoholic wipes; and how he felt tested, somehow, through his endurance in not crying as Eren scribbled an apology with his spare hand and Mikasa watched on like a hawk.

Armin had been in love before. It had mostly been with boys, but then it wasn't as if gender really mattered- not once he realised that being in love with boys made things a lot easier, as he could do many more things with them before having to be straight up with them and other people about what their relationship really consisted of. People asked questions when he hung round Sasha's one Sunday to play video games, but no one seemed to bat an eyelid when he woke up in Jean's bed with a hangover (though then, someone had spiked his drink the night before, so it was somewhat excusable, even if he did enjoy Jean's peaceful sleeping face for upwards of half an hour.). He liked to think he had himself pretty sussed out when it came to being in love, and there was no ambiguity now as to how Eren was making him feel.

That said, he'd never been this uncomfortable with being in love before.

He wrapped the bandage round three times, loose enough to fit two fingers under, but tight enough that it didn't move about. He wondered about asking Eren not to hurt himself again, but it was arrogant of him to assume his opinion meant anything to this boy. Besides, he'd already been accommodating enough to put himself into an uncomfortable situation in order to make Armin feel useful and validated.

"Done," he said, looking up, and Eren was writing something again.

_Do you want to go for something to eat?_

"Oh! I…" Armin dared look at Mikasa, but, for once, she didn't seem to be paying attention. Perhaps she was tired.

Eren was still waiting for his answer. On the one hand, maybe he should give Eren his space, so he could talk to Mikasa freely- well, he assumed he could talk to her. Then again, it was Eren who was offering, with his apologetic grin and crumpled piece of paper.

"Do you guys… um… not need to get back?"

"We walk, like you," Mikasa deadpanned.

"W-Wait, how do you know that I-"

"We go the same way. It's an apartment on the corner, 3rd floor, right?"

Armin had always though Jean was a good judge of character, even if he himself was a little rough round the edges, but perhaps Mikasa had been an exception. "About the food, I think…" he began, but was given no opportunity to finish, as Eren caught hold of the sleeve of his jacket between his forefinger and thumb, stopping Armin from heading back up the corridor.

"Eren…?"

It was only then, as he'd placed his judgements on the pair, that they both subverted them. Eren looked somewhat hurt that Armin was going to leave, despite the fact that so far, Armin had been thinking that he was making Eren uncomfortable. That, and in the same moment, Mikasa held up her wallet.

"I'll pay."

Eren pointed at Armin, as if to say ha!, while Armin's cheeks tinged themselves pink, partially with embarrassment that Mikasa thought he couldn't afford it (well… he couldn't, not really) and partially because they were both being so nice to him, even though he'd not done or said anything special.

When his mum returned from work later, around eight, he wouldn't tell her where he'd been. Not because she would mind, but because he wasn't sure she'd believe that her son, whose skin was slightly too pale to be healthy thanks to his tendency to have no reason to go outside other than for errands and school, would end up eating a Subway sandwich on the embankment, watching the lights of Berlin illuminate one by one as dusk fell.

Mikasa had indeed paid. Armin had stood by awkwardly, watching his fingers on the glass of the cabinet as his face burned with humiliation for having left his wallet at home. He now owed Mikasa in more ways than one.

"How do you know what Eren wants?" Armin had asked, and Mikasa just flicked her fringe at him.

"He always has the same thing. And picks out the cucumber."

Eren did pick out the cucumber. There had been a whole five slices, which seemed a bit unfortunate as each one he picked out made his sandwich fall apart even more, oozing chilli sauce on his skinny fingers. He licked his thumb as he flung a cucumber frisbee at a plump looking pigeon, which pecked at it experimentally, before deciding it didn't suite its tastes and bobbing off towards the next bench: where a loud English couple sat sharing a Currywurst.

For the most part, they sat in silence. Armin wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure if the silence was heavy, or if it was natural to Eren and Mikasa. Either way, he envisaged a number of different conversations, all of which took different turns. It was part of the way he was that he would imagine Eren running off to chase the birds and irritate pensioners with his wild movements and scuffed trainers. Mikasa and Armin would watch, and Armin would ask Mikasa how she felt, and, without looking away from Eren taking a picture of the clouds on his phone, she would reply that she was sad, but content. In his head, her smile said exactly the same thing as she said, even though the Mikasa in the real world looked as if she were lost- not in thought, just in the empty corridors of her own musing.

He liked to think back to that first meeting a lot. At that point, Eren seemed easy to understand, and Mikasa seemed rational. Not to mention, he could leave so many questions unasked- where were they from, what was their family like, were they related, what made Eren hate himself so badly and what made Mikasa seem as if she were retreating into her own melancholy stare when she thought people weren't looking- without it tearing him apart at night.

By the time Eren had finished with his sandwich, the streetlights had come on, and Armin was regretting not having worn a jacket.


	3. Table of Contents

Armin hadn't passed his weekend in exactly the same way as usual. Recently, he'd been feeling that he'd gotten to the point where nothing in his life was particularly enjoyable, but many things seem to waste his time for long enough for him not to end up staring at his bedroom wall, being crushed under the weight of his own existential angst. At weekends, he mostly slept- 15 hours a day- caught up on homework he'd found no interest in doing during the week, and, on Saturday afternoons, went to the market to see how much fresh produce he could buy with eight euros, to last him and his mother through the week.

The appearance of this puzzle, this fixation, this boy with stunning eyes, however, changed the normal set-up of Armin's weekend. While he still slept the same amount, he felt less reluctant to give up his bed-covers and care about the world when he could try and get his somewhat obsessively logical mind around the things that made up that dark-skinned boy that now occupied his dreams.

His laptop progressively warmed his lap as he tapped keywords into the search bar, one after the other in an attempt to widen his knowledge: anxiety, social anxiety, mutism, selective mutism, mutism causes, mutism and depression, depression. He knew what came next, but his cowardly fingers couldn't let him face up to it, as he tried to ignore the mental image of the tiny slices running up Eren's arm; like marks to remember something written in permanent marker, or graffiti scratched onto a flower-adorned gravestone.

He came out understanding a number of things, and none had to do with the nature of Eren's inability to speak. Whatever the cause (if any), whatever the seriousness, whatever treatment (if any) he was undertaking, was nothing to do with Armin unless Eren, at some point in the future, decided that this was something that he felt Armin should know. The literature was far too confusing and contradictory for Armin to come up with his own judgements anyway, particularly as he'd only just met Eren.

He had decided that he personally found no fault in Eren not being able to speak. It was the way he coped, and who was Armin to judge. It was stupid to think, and he'd never say it out loud, but there were days when he thought the whole world would do well to fall silent, even if just for an hour or two.

Knowing that Eren had a plenty loud enough voice when he was in danger was comforting though.

Armin took a walk. It wasn't something he was in the habit in, being a small boy in what most bar his mother would consider to be a rough part of town, but he wore a hat and gender-neutral clothing in the hope that he wouldn't be mistaken for a girl or an effeminate boy. Hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat, he took a backstreet to avoid the bar on the main road along from his house, following it out of town.

His thinking was that wherever Eren and Mikasa lived, it couldn't be more than a quarter of an hour from where Armin lived, and could only be in virtually one direction, judging by the route they would have taken (if it weren't for the detour in the name of a sandwich) from the school. He wasn't sure what he'd achieve, other than perhaps being equal with them in regards to the amount he knew about them. In an ideal world, Eren would be sat on his doorstep, doing his homework, and his face would light up into a lopsided grin as Armin called out his name.

Armin stopped, shoes scuffing against the pavement underfoot. This was ridiculous.

Perhaps it was the effect of the walk, but Armin felt more refreshed than usual from his weekend. He got up early and had breakfast, leaving a cup of tea on his mother's bedside table before stepping out the door, organised, upbeat and looking cute in his favourite jumper.

Jean didn't notice. Like hell did he notice. He went off on one until Armin shut him up about Eren, at which point he began muttering about apologising. He had an annoying habit of running his hands through his hair whenever he was stressed, and not even in a normal way: it looked as if he were trying to feel every minute complexity in the surface of his scalp.

Thankfully though, he didn't have to put up with it much longer. His heart had already done a backflip before his mind had computed who had finally walked through the door of classroom Y4.

Eren had a headphone dangling from one ear, a chemistry textbook in his hand and a pen behind his other ear. He looked the picture of studious, if not for the fact that the shadows under his eyes suggested sleep deprivation and the expression on his face showed no interest in studying- rather, much to Armin's secret delight, it had considerably brightened upon seeing him.

"Ah," Jean said, finally stopping the hair thing, but irritating Armin more by twisting his face- which some say was quite good-looking- into a sour expression, as if he were sucking on the lemon of his own crushing regret. "He's coming this way, with the chick…"

Indeed, Eren had tight hold of Mikasa's hand, and was dragging her behind him.

"Her name is Mikasa," Armin muttered, and instantly regretted it, as Jean perked up.

"How do you know that?" Jean just had time to hiss softly, blinking twice in a sort of astonishment that Armin of all people might have been invested enough in this mysterious new girl with her stoic depression and midnight hair to do something as daringly banal as to discover her name. Thankfully for Armin's faith in Jean's humanity, Jean managed to work out who Armin was really invested in by the end of the morning: though it was possible he got it in the following thirty seconds.

"Uh… Hey Eren. I think Mikasa wants her hand back no-"

One day, Armin would learn that for him to get whole sentences out around Eren was somewhat of a feat. Indeed, on this occasion he could have ended his sentence, but was simply so taken aback by this enigmatic boy reaching to tuck his hair behind his ear before whispering, "Cute outfit." Particularly as he'd preceded the action by quite visibly mentally-preparing himself for the interaction, manifesting as a slight scowl. Indeed, his voice sounded faint, as if long unused- perhaps Eren couldn't speak to Mikasa?

It both worried and amused Jean to see the pair react after that. Armin went bright red, looking down at his feet as he fiddled with his sleeve, partly because Eren had noticed he'd made an effort, but mostly because it had been so important to Eren to tell Armin this that he'd put himself outside of his comfort zone.

Except Eren now seemed to be closing in on himself, smile gone, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"Um… T-Thank you," Armin said, as although he felt small in front of Jean, he felt Eren needed to know how much he appreciated it. Thankfully, Mikasa seemed on hand to help- Armin hoped she knew what he was trying to do, selfish reasons of getting Eren's divine attention aside.

"Hey, Eren," she said, he voice sounding as if it had been carried in on a breeze. She could narrate Armin's dreams; her voice was so velvety, "Look at Armin." It wasn't a command, it wasn't a pointer, rather a casual suggestion. And Eren did. Not into his eyes, just at his lips, which Armin couldn't help but having fixed in a small, embarrassed smile. He could feel Jean's stare on the back of his neck, but he didn't care, because Eren was blushing, and it was such a strange yet beautiful thing that Armin had to help from pinching himself.

Except it didn't last long, as somewhere along the lines, the situation became too much for Eren, who span on his heel and exited the classroom, pursued by Mikasa. In retrospect, it occurred to Armin that a person like Eren might be hyper-sensitive to social situations, and may indeed, from the corner of his eye, have noticed that Marco had entered the fray.

Just as Armin though the incident was over, Mikasa appeared again in the doorway. He wasn't sure how he'd not managed to notice before, but even from a few metres away, Armin found himself struck with how her eyes were like ice: not in that they were blue, as they were a dull brown, but how they seemed to reflect light so brilliantly yet still seem so unfeeling.

"Start of break, meet me in classroom C3."

And with that, she was gone.

The air around Armin seemed to have gone still. He had a hand pressed against his warmed cheeks, and had he have been in the right mood, he would have closed his eyes, savouring that blush, perhaps even pretending that that gentle touch was not his own. Alas, he was a student. Any ephemeral moments he was gifted in the world were more than likely to be taken away by the relentless tide of life than left for him to clutch to his chest, especially while he hung around with Jean.

"What the fuck was that?" was the best Jean could come up with.

"Ahaha, bless. Armin, I think Jean's a little jealous of the attention Mikasa gave you," Marco said softly, winking. Armin always admired how Marco managed to say even the most sharp-ended things without even a hint of malice in his voice, but on this occasion, it served to grate on him slightly. Maybe he subconsciously blamed Marco for Eren running away. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. But Armin felt bad, therefore Marco being his usual mild self was somewhat irritating.

"No, fuck that. Look at… Fuck, Armin, you can't have seriously fallen in love with that twerp, have you?"

Armin managed to gather his wits enough to retort, "That "twerp" that you've not yet apologised to for beating up, huh?"

Jean looked crushed. "I won't agree to it. You can't."

"You sound jealous."

There was a heavy pause.

"So… Are you gonna…" Jean looked down at his fingers.

"What?"

"See… Mikasa?"

"I wonder what that's about, huh. I mean, she and Eren…" Marco mused.

"Ha, Jean isn't interested in that. He just wants her phone number."

His words came out pricklier than he had intended. Perhaps that was why Jean didn't answer. Then again, perhaps it was because the bell rang, and the whole situation seemed to become of nothing when Armin realised the weight of the textbooks crammed into his rucksack. Fifteen minutes later and no one would remember the conversation held across the classroom between the odd new girl and the class bookworm, let alone notice that Eren's desk remained empty all morning. After all, what were human relationships when there were exams to be passed?

Armin of all people should know.


	4. Hypothesis

Armin half expected Jean or Marco to follow him to the science block that break, yet when he got to room C3- a classroom used by teachers as a dumping ground for student's papers, and by students as a place to avoid teachers- he found it vacant. In fact, it was eerie how quiet the corridors became during breaks, with the science corridor in particular being out-of-bounds. He could hear the wind whistling though the gap in the window pane, and he moved to run his finger through the gap, whilst leaning to see two floors down to the courtyard below. He just about made out Sasha and Connie causing mischief with a Brötchen between them, but other than that, it was the same worn-out, grey faces; people going places and doing things Armin had no interest in.

Mikasa scuffed the door on purpose. Armin knew she could be as silent as cancer if she wanted to, to the extent of creeping up behind him and standing there, waiting, but on this occasion it seemed important that Armin start on her side, so to speak.

"Um… So…" Some may have expected Armin, as a smart individual, to be careful with words, but he had a habit of throwing them about at the worst of times.

"Armin, what do you think of Eren?" She walked as she talked, taking silent steps and holding Armin's gaze like a hand round his neck.

"I… I've only just met him. I-I-I mean, um… You guys only arrived the other week, so… Um… I like him though…"

Mikasa was like a book character- a very extreme character, almost unreal in the way she reacted to the world around her. For example, she seemed to be reading Armin; even though her eyes, as usual, were a flat, lugubrious brown, untelling of any thought or process. "You have questions."

"Um… I guess so. I… I mean, why did you bring me here? I-Is this some kind of interrogation? Why do you care about me? Jealousy? If you are jealous, I suppose it's well-founded- well, no, wait, your thought process is probably logical, I mean, not that Eren and I… We don't… Um…"

He wasn't sure if it was calculated to the effect it gave, but Mikasa sitting down next to him on the table and pushing her hair out of her face gave her a strange air of amicability, even a hint of vulnerability.

"I get the impression you're smart, but you're over-thinking this. You and I, we want the same thing for Eren."

That was the most he'd ever heard her say. It was also the softest he'd heard her voice: a small hint of the tenderness in her relationship with the boy who had somehow bought this odd pair together.

"P-Probably." He took a deep breath. "Um… It's selective mutism, right?"

"Yes." She paused. "And self-harm, suicidal tendencies, explosive anger and social anxiety.

The wind was whistling again, blowing a chill down Armin's neck. Mikasa was starting into the middle distance, a dejected looseness hung across her expression.

"He also has a great smile, a strange habit with cucumber slices and an ineffable ability to perceive the weak point of others and subsequently cover it up with something beautiful out of the blue…"

"Yes."

"Can I ask… How do you two know each other?" Armin was looking down at his fingers now. He didn't want to look at her: he kept seeing glimpses of emotion flashing across her face that he didn't want to recognise, because recognising it would mean knowing and knowing meant Armin was too invested. Mikasa was, at the moment, a force to be reckoned with. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, there he was, asking questions about their life.

"What's it to you?"

"Y-You know where my apartment is. I'm allowed something in return." His voice was harder than he felt.

"I found that out for myself."

"By chance. And I'm finding this out, by asking you."

She acquiesced. "We live together, with Eren's mum."

"So you're not related?"

Armin could almost hear the smile passing over Mikasa's lips, but he didn't dare look, because he knew as soon as he said it that it was a stupid question. That, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of smile it was.

"Do we look related?"

The question was rhetorical, but it didn't stop Armin feeling the air go thick with his silence, as her words rang in his ears like a disease.

Armin never thought anything interesting would happen in his life. He felt he lived in a liminal state: never without acquaintances but never with good friends; never consumed by any emotion in particular except perhaps boredom; he didn't dream but he had his future planned out until the age of 21; and above all, nothing interesting ever happened to him. Every week in the life of Armin Arlert had been almost the same for as far back as he could remember, his weekends fading into a mist of markets, homework and rented DVDs, interspersed with house parties attended by the same group of people, where nothing happened and nobody remembered. At least that was the case up until the point where Mikasa leaned forward and whispered that proposal that would turn his life on its head.

"Armin, I need you to help me help Eren."


	5. Opening

Armin wouldn't call it a project. After all, there was no endgame, regardless of his fantasies where Eren would realise how truly amazing he was and stop hurting himself, or where Eren would whisk Armin into those bony arms of his and plant a perfect little kiss on his rosy cheek. Nor was there any plan; with Mikasa giving him nothing more than a meeting point for after school, and what might be considered a kind parting smile as she exited the science classroom, the door creaking quietly behind her.

Plus, Eren wasn't a subject. Eren was the most human one could be: he was the face Armin saw in a crowd, the one standing in the middle of a corridor while everyone walked round him, the face in a world of blanks.

It was a strange request. Armin couldn't help his mind ticking over it during maths, and in history, as he watched Eren scribbling notes at the front of the class. She "needed" him? Armin had never been told he was needed before, let alone by a girl who seemed so wholly capable of anything. Maybe she did have a plan, and Armin was merely being manipulated: it would explain why Mikasa hadn't mentioned anything concrete. She didn't seem like the sort of girl who would go out of her way to cover up her ulterior motives when her intellect was so easily hidden by her quizzical and enigmatic exterior.

And then… "need". As if Eren was in some kind of danger without Armin. It was hard to believe, and even harder to work out why Mikasa would find it auspicious to suggest that. Eren was mute, but he wasn't incapable of defending himself. Indeed, Armin thought as Eren raised his hand for third time that lesson, showing the teacher the second notebook he now kept with him to write conversations down in, he wasn't incapable of anything, and most certainly not modern history.

"He never smiles," Jean muttered to him, and Armin saw Marco lean into the conversation from his desk.

"Who?" Armin whispered, furrowing his brow a Jean, who was twiddling his pen between his fingers and intermittently letting it tap the desk.

"You know, for someone with the best grades in forever, you're really fucking stupid sometimes. Eren. You've been staring at him for the past 20 minutes?"

Jean evidently wasn't as dumb as his haircut made him out to be. The self-obsessed and candidly smug expression on his face, however, when Armin inadvertently blushed, was just as annoying as always.

"Has he?" Marco chipped in, slightly too loud, as Jean kicked him under the desk and a girl Armin forgot the name of glanced round at the trio.

"'S because he keeps answering questions," Armin said coolly, though couldn't help but check himself as he found his line of sight wandering back towards the front of the class. It was true though- he wasn't sure he'd seen Eren this animated about anything before, not that he'd known him that long. Did he like history? What was it about history, Armin found himself thinking, as he stared at the notebook on Eren's desk, its pages pulled back over the spine and margins abused with noncommittal pen squiggles. It was only then, as he heard Jean giggle, that he realised he'd done it again- he was indeed absolutely transfixed on Eren goddamn Jaeger.

"S-Shut up, Jean," he muttered, blushing harder this time and only cursing himself when he felt the tips of his ears go red. He found his mind wandering back to the morning, Eren complimenting him and consequently bunking his lessons, Jean hanging on (as he still was) to the way Armin acted when Eren was in the room… And then there was Mikasa. Somehow, all these things didn't fit. If he was supposedly necessary in Mikasa's plan to help Eren, then why did Armin only serve to make things worse for him? Jean wouldn't notice Eren further than their scrap on the previous Friday if it weren't for Armin's ridiculous blushing, Eren wouldn't have skipped his lessons if it weren't for Armin's mere existence; and now Eren was turning round to look at them- he could hear Jean giggling- and he saw Jean punch Armin lightly in the arm as he looked straight at him. Armin didn't catch his facial expression as he turned back round in his seat, but Armin knew what it would be like, having already been there: the boy sat at the front of the class, hearing someone laughing and feeling their eyes bore into the back of his head.

The frustrating thing was, he wasn't even friends with Jean. It was merely by association, that since Armin had once followed "that douchebag with the undercut" around like a forlorn yet amorous puppy, that meant they somehow were still friends. If Armin himself had to put it down to one thing, it would be that no one changed friends enough to warrant changing the seating plans at the start of the new school year, hence Armin was stuck, in the previous year's wisdom, sat next to Jean for all lessons except German. Eren, on the other hand, played the missing part; he and Mikasa slotting in wherever there was an empty desk as if where they sat were some kind of intricate code. In reality, the relationship between Armin and Jean had soured a bit. Marco- poor Marco- was now the boy smitten with the class "jock"; whereas Armin was alone, people still thinking he was friends with Jean from the fact they sat together and because Jean had an irritating habit of being unable to shut his face.

Time must have passed after that, because he had the notes on Hindenburg's presidency to prove it. So he hadn't slept or been distracted, but mulling over his conversation with Jean in bed later that night, he came to realise that everything from the moment Jean was yelled out for making goofy faces to the second after the bell rang was a complete blur. He had a memory problem sometimes where he'd repeat himself or forget little details, simply because life often became too mundane to bother remembering. Yet, of course, he could remember Eren's exact expression as he walked up to his desk as everyone left out the back: it was one of cautious contentment.

Eren held up a note, prewritten. _Mikasa said you were going to hang out with us?_

"Um… Ah… Y-Yeah. Wait a minute," Armin said, flustering with the contents of his bag, Eren watching him bemusedly as he shoved papers into his notebooks. He threw his bag violently over one shoulder. "Ready?"

And there it was again: Eren's smile. Jean was right, he wasn't as fast and loose with his facial expressions as most people, so much so that he could understand a girl he'd overheard that morning mentioning how Eren always seemed angry. Eren had a right to be angry, of course, but he also had a right to be happy: and if Eren being happy meant Armin got to gaze upon his cheeky smile more often, he would champion this right as much as the USA championed unfettered capitalism.

"So, do you know where we're meeting Mikasa?" Armin asked casually as he followed Eren out of the classroom, and Eren made an expression that made him look momentarily dumb, as he squinted into the middle-distance, before extracting his phone from his jeans pocket. It wasn't a flashy variety, more a functional, middle-of-the range thing, probably second-hand, unless Eren had inflicted those scratches on it himself. Eren slowed down as he unlocked it, opening his messages and opening one of three conversations held there, which he held up to Armin. It was a text from Mikasa, but Armin didn't get as far as reading it as the phone buzzed and a message icon obscured the screen.

Armin couldn't help but notice how Eren made a little "ah" with his mouth, though no noise came out. He read the text and frowned.

"Eren and Armin, sitting in a tree…" came a sing song voice, as Jean swaggered up to them, Marco in tow. Eren scowled as they walked past, initially mostly perturbed by the fact he'd been distracted, though the lines of his scowl deepened as he recognised Jean from his fight on the Friday. The moment Jean made kissing noises as he walked away was the very moment Eren snapped, and Armin watched in amazement as Eren took of his shoe and threw it straight at Jean's head. Armin wasn't sure if it was more satisfying to see what a great shot Eren was from what was probably 8 metres away, or to hear the resounding _slap_ the sole of his trainer made at it made contact.

What was even more surprising is that Eren had risen to the same level of anger as on Friday- one that took him out of his mutism and let him yell "FUCK YOU" down the corridor. This action took both boys by surprise, as Jean took a moment to compute- Armin could virtually see the cogs working- what had just happened. Eren, meanwhile, seemed shocked and perhaps even disgusted by the sound of his own voice. This was when Jean picked up the shoe and threw it back, missing Eren, and broke into a run. Eren took this opportunity run away from him, still holding his phone and now only wearing one shoe. He ducked into the boys toilets and both Jean and Armin heard the click of the lock behind him.

Why did the boys toilets lock?

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE JAEGER, DAMMIT." Jean turned to Armin, the latter too dumbstruck with the simultaneous stupidity and brilliance of Eren's actions. Marco handed Armin Eren's shoe, which he couldn't much say he particularly wanted. "Do you believe me yet, Armin? Fucking nuts. Who the fuck even throws a shoe? And how come he won't speak but he'll yell at me, huh? Is he faking it?" He kicked the door, as if redirecting his open question.

"Shut up Jean, you're embarrassing yourself," Armin clenched the shoe. "Who… Who would even fake that sort of thing? O-Optionally?" Armin hated himself for saying that- something about it made Eren sound tragic, and while it wouldn't matter if he was, Eren was not tragic: he was an enigma, albeit one with smelly trainers.

"He's already got your twisted round his little finger, huh? I wouldn't have put you down as someone who fell for such a dumbass."

"Eren's not a dumbass, and I haven't changed my feelings about anyone except you, Jean… You… You…"

Armin was surprised to find himself choking up. Why? He didn't have anything to feel sad about- if anything, anyone who walked down the corridor in that very moment might have found the situation quite funny: a boy insistent on not leaving the closed bathroom door unattended, staring at two boys, one of whom was now crying whilst clutching a shoe that clearly wasn't his own.

He tried in vain to wipe his tear away with his sleeve. Perhaps it was the shock of a fight; it really had been a long time since Armin had properly engaged with anyone, let alone fought, and it was just so emotionally exhausting. He thought about how stupid he looked, and hoped Eren had found a way to escape out of the bathroom window and shin down the wall (it would, after all, be just the sort of thing that Eren would do), lest Armin have to look at him with puffy eyes and a broken spirit.

Oh, Mikasa, he thought. He couldn't even help himself- how was he supposed to help cucumber boy?

Maybe when Eren came out of the bathroom, he'd see right through Armin. He'd pretend he didn't exist- no, he really wouldn't see Armin at all, but it wouldn't bother him. He wouldn't remember anything as he flung his bag over his shoulder and drowned his head in drum and bass, crossing the courtyard without looking back, without thinking, without remembering.

"Fuck it. Jesus, Armin, there's no need to be such a girl. Urgh… Marco, you wanna go get a McFlurry or something?"

The way Jean massaged his own head made it seem as if he were obsessively flattening some unseen creases in the fabric of his own skin.

"You coming then or what?" Jean veiled his tone of voice with fake annoyance, but he wasn't annoyed: it was obvious, he wouldn't have offered out a hand if he weren't feeling guilty.

For a moment, Armin did consider it. He'd be less of a burden to Eren if Eren didn't care about him any longer.

Except it was Mikasa, her grey and goose-down eyes swimming in his mind's eye, which stopped him.

"'Girl' isn't an insult, Jean."

"Suit yourself."

Perhaps seeing Jean turn his back on him might have been the worst thing to happen to him a few years previously. Now, however, it served no emotion to Armin, who if anything felt relieved that he could properly wipe his tears without pretending he wasn't crying. There was no guilt, not this time; no self-loathing either, just a weary sense of relieve that he no longer had to pretend to care, that he no longer had to waste his time in another conversation he had no need to be engaged in.

The moment it took for Jean and Marco to skulk out of view wasn't long enough for it to occur to Armin that Eren might notice Armin's red-rimmed eyes, so Eren's surprised expression as the bathroom lock clicked open came as a bit of a shock to Armin.

Or was it? Was it the expression on Eren's face, or was it the way he leaned in to Armin, as if trying to suss him out? Was it the way he was so hesitant in reaching up to wipe a stray tear from Armin's burning cheek, anxiety almost getting the better of him; and the way it killed Armin to watch him deliberating with himself behind those telling eyes? Or was it, indeed, because Eren's eyelids fluttered, like the wings of a dying butterfly, and his lips parted slighty, as if he was going to say something; except then he pulled away. But it was too late. Armin's breath was dry in his throat.

He'd seen. Eren had glanced back up at him.

Eren's pupils had dilated.

Caught in his own logic-driven mind, a maelstrom of thoughts hit him at once, and he almost found himself kneeling under the intensity of it. The first most feral thoughts, were to grab the taller boy right there and… what? That's where the next thoughts came in, bombarding him with a hundred questions about what it meant, if anything. Had Eren wanted to kiss him? Why? Why when his face was red and his eyes sore from wiping them with his sleeve?

After that followed the more long-term consequences of this action- what was Mikasa going to say? Would she mind? If she did mind, was it because it would screw with Eren when he really needed to be kept out of trouble (a mean feat though that might be), or because she herself had feelings for Eren? If she did, then what? Armin had hidden his feelings fine before, but it hadn't ended how he would have hoped, thinking of Jean's scathing backward glance.

Eren had momentarily turned around so Armin couldn't see his face, searching for something in his rucksack, which, judging by his frantic movements, was not neatly organised like Armin's. In the consequent seconds, while Armin had been preoccupied with the ragings of his own brain, he'd scribbled something in red pen on the back of what looked like his unfinished Economics homework, which Armin now found stuffed in his hands, as Eren dashed, once more, into the bathroom.

_Won't be a minute._

Indeed, he wasn't a minute. He didn't time it, but it was definitely longer than a minute. It was however long it took for Armin to become self-conscious about standing in a school after-hours (did Eren do this often or was it just when Armin was around?), long enough to slide down the wall, staring at the toilet door opposite, but not long enough for the thoughts to stop whirling or for his cheeks to return to their normal pasty hue. He came to the conclusion that Eren was on the phone, muttering things Armin couldn't hear, no matter how hard he tried.

The explanation came in the same spidery red handwriting, this time in the book he usually used to communicate.

_Mikasa texted me before to say she can't come, and she wouldn't tell me why not? I'm still cool to hang with it, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable? I get it if you've got homework or something._

Armin looked up at Eren. He had come out of the bathroom looking exactly the same as when he went in, save for two small details Armin picked up on: firstly, that his hair was much messier, dragged backwards as if he'd been stood in a wind tunnel, and of course, his pupils were smaller now, though still not quite normal size, Armin reckoned.

"Um… No. I… Why would I be uncomfortable?" He smiled, except it faltered when he wondered if that was the impression he gave off. But Eren? Eren didn't seem to care, kicking his shoe back onto his foot and pocketing the lid of his pen, supposedly ready to hold a conversation.

Why would Mikasa bail out? On top of everything else- what did that mean?

That reminded Armin.

"Hey, Eren," he said, as Eren offered him a hand up. Armin accepted before continuing his point, taking a moment to notice that up his sleeves, Eren was still wearing the bandages Armin had applied at the end of the previous week. Or at least, they looked similar.

Eren was still looking at him with those piercing eyes of his as they started along the corridor, and Armin blushed as he realised he'd forgotten to finish speaking.

"Oh… Oh yeah, I was going to ask… Um… Do you speak sign language?" It sounded stupid once the words had rolled over his lips, but Eren's face lit up. He did a hand gesture, holding his palm open pointedly, folding it into a fist, opened it, and folded it again, only this time folding two fingers of the fist over the other two.

Armin realised that he'd probably asked the wrong question. Indeed, it had been more of a suggestion than a question, but then it was Armin's own fault for underestimating the one and only Eren Jaeger. He looked pleased about it though, so perhaps he'd hit the spot when it came to the conversation starter to get them over the numerous events of the last ten minutes.

Armin's heart was still echoing in his chest.

"Ah… What does that mean?" Armin smiled, and this time it didn't falter.

Eren pointed to himself. Armin's cynical side listed a number of words- puzzling, trouble, hot, weird, new, interesting, lanky- that he thought the word could describe, before connecting two and two. Four gestures. Four letters.

"Oh… It's your name. Ehh… Anything else? I don't know any, ha. I don't know why I asked, I'm being put to shame." The reply was vague, Eren pulling a face and wiggling his hands in a non-committal fashion.

And that was it. Eren may have not been able speak, but there was little impediment to his communication. The fact that his mutism obviously did him harm aside, it was invigorating in a way, to see one person say so many things in so many ways, with no spoken words at all. He threw his hands about, flourishing his pad of paper and pulling all manner of faces (though smiling was, as Jean had said, a rarity). The most interesting part, however, would always be Eren's eyes. Living in Berlin, life could be quite grey, and he'd never really seen such things as the purling of the ocean or the dunes of a desert. Yet, somehow, all of these things existed in Eren's eyes: his odd heterochromatic eyes, where Armin could gaze deep into a pit of gold and fire and a field on a summer's day simultaneously, for as long as Eren would hold eye contact.


	6. Point

"I still can't believe you threw that shoe at Jean," Armin giggled, tripping over the step of the corner shop as they exited with their drinks.

Eren's reply was just one word, as he seemed more preoccupied with sating his thirst with a drink Armin had never come across before. It looked like ice tea, except it was green. _Douchebag._

Hanging out (as Eren had called it) with Eren was certainly something special. He'd yet to broach the subject of Mikasa's absence, but maybe it was because Eren acted differently when Mikasa was around that Armin was somewhat avoiding the subject anyway.

"I… I'm sorry about him, y'know. I-It probably… You probably wouldn't like me saying, but he's not terrible. He just doesn't like things that don't fit."

Of course, it was natural that a brother and sister (they were that until Armin worked out if Mikasa really was romantically interested in Eren) would act differently around each other than with someone they'd only known for a few days, but Armin couldn't help thinking there was more to it. Mikasa, for one, was far too attentive, to the point of obsession. Was it suffocating Eren, or was he loath to stand his own ground when he had someone who would willingly do it for him? Was Mikasa just perpetuating his problems?

No, Armin shook his head, that wasn't it. While Eren didn't seem to show any contempt for Mikasa or her mothering to her face, Eren clearly felt he could manage on his own, starting fights and remaining independent in class. But then he'd been so frantic to ring Mikasa when he found out that she wasn't to join him and Armin: it didn't match up.

Armin didn't realised how much he'd drifted off into his own thoughts until Eren shoved his pad of paper obnoxiously under Armin's nose. _You're probably right, but there's no way I'm going to know that if he continues to be such a horsefaced git._ And then, added underneath, he'd written, _What are you shaking your head about?_

He decided to be honest. "Mikasa," he admitted, and Eren's expression changed to one Armin wasn't really sure what to make of. His brows furrowed, which with any other person would indicate anger or concern, but on Eren seemed merely his natural expression. Not to mention, there was little emotion in his eyes at that point- not that Armin got much of a chance to look, as Eren suddenly became very interested in the wrapper of his bottle of weird cold tea.

"Do you not like her?" Armin knew as soon as the words left his mouth that they were the wrong ones, yet Eren didn't look as hurt as Armin would have expected. All the same, he felt bad. In fact, seeing Eren's expression die as it did after he'd spent so long giving Armin those beautiful content smiles since they'd left the Gymnasium only served to deepen Armin's guilt. "I-I'm sorry, I… It doesn't matter. That was rude." His hair fell in front of his eyes, and he was glad that it did, because he didn't want to see the look Eren gave him.

Except Eren wasn't beside him. Eren was three metres ahead of him, edging around a group of tourists. Armin almost thought he was leaving him, until a few seconds later, when he saw him notice Armin's absence and look around frantically. In fact, it was more than frantic. Armin had never considered it possible to look so horrifyingly full of dread before, but then, he'd never seen someone have a panic attack.

Armin would later learn that what he did next was just about the right thing. However, in the seconds following the moment when Eren stopped in his tracks, and the full weight of the darkening sky seemed to fall visibly on his head, Armin had no idea what to do. In fact, his first thought was spent wishing Mikasa were there. For this, he scolded himself. He then, slowly but surely, gathered his senses and approached Eren where he was now effectively frozen in the middle of the bustling street.

"Um… Eren? Eren, you're OK." It felt good saying Eren's name: it was a reassurance, a secret pact of acquaintance between the pair. That said, there was something wholly unnerving about the way Eren looked at Armin, not registering him at all. His notebook was limp in his hands, and Armin noticed he's started writing something, but it was illegible. "Eren? It's me, Armin, Eren. Umm… I… I think we should get out of here. I… I'm going to take your hand."

Armin began to panic when Eren stopped noticing what Armin was telling him. He kept looking straight ahead, forehead creased with worry but eyes not seeing, not registering anything but thin air. People were watching. People were everywhere.

Eren looked sweaty, but when Armin finally mustered up the courage to take his hand, it was clammy and cold, as if he'd died.

Once Armin had a firm hold of the one hand he would have considered it so incredibly romantic to hold, it was like something clicked, and suddenly he was the reliable, top grades Armin Arlert, all composure and neat hair. He knew exactly what his aim was as he guided Eren gently through the crowd, reassuring him every step. It was an Armin many people had probably once known, until the boy had quietly slipped with stress and loneliness during puberty and became an altogether different person by the time he found himself taking his Abitur.

It was only once they found themselves in front of the Brandenburg Gate, with its slowly easing number of mild-mannered tourists and yellow glow in the dusk, that Armin and Eren found themselves calming down. For a few minutes, Eren sat at the bottom of a pillar, drinking in the cool air deeply as if he'd been starved of it for a long, long time. He sated his thirst in large gulps that momentarily made Armin wonder if he'd end up with an unconscious boy on his hands; alas, after about a minute, the twinkle seemed to reappear in Eren's eyes and he looked up quietly at the gate.

Armin was used to being invisible. If one didn't make a point for long enough, it was easy for an individual to become inconsequential: doubly so in the overwhelming whirlpool of the education system. In a way, Armin liked this. Or at least, the selfish part of him did: the part that secretly looked down on the world as a self-preservation mechanism, the part that liked to be alone in the library, just working. Yet as he watched Eren admire the way the lights shone on the majestic statues that reared over the Gate's entrance, he questioned his own thinking and premonitions about the world. Was it society's folly that one could so easily fall through the gaps, often not even to the benefit of the many? It physically hurt for Armin to try to conceive a world wherein someone was not there for Eren when he became like this.

_I'm sorry._

"NO!" Armin shouted, and Eren jumped. There was a moment of misunderstanding, in which Eren looked ready to arch his defense, squaring his shoulders at the other boy, but his actions quickly reversed when he saw Armin rub tears from his eyes.

Of course, Armin cursed internally, of course he was crying again.

"I… I… Um… No. I…" He took a second, inhaling, breathing the same air Eren had drank so thirstily. A deviant part of his brain found itself asking if Eren would drink the air from his mouth, putting his cool hands on his flushed face and leaving him breathless, but Armin remained externally unscathed by this thought. "Eren, please don't be sorry. That's the absolute last thing I want you to be, please…"

Yet, of course there was a world where someone wasn't there for Eren. No amount of naivety could obscure that thought from Armin, no matter how much he arrogantly he tried to rationalise Eren. While nothing may have caused Eren's mutism or social anxiety, something had perpetuated them, and something had driven him to want to hurt himself, to want to kill himself.

This revelation hurt. He wasn't sure why it should, being that it wasn't him who was currently had bandages wrapped around his tender wrists, but it did. It physically hurt.

Armin could see Eren struggling on what to write to make Armin feel better. Once again, guilt overflowed in his mind, and all of a sudden he was bubbling with self-loathing, wishing he wasn't such a burden on people and that he could just somehow help Eren without making everything about him.

He wasn't sure how much it had taken for Eren to muster up the courage to embrace Armin, but it couldn't have been too far outside the stubborn teenager's scope, as once he'd looped his arms around Armin and rested his chin on Armin's shoulder, he seemed to acquaint himself with the shape of Armin's body, his form loosening of its former anxiety. They stayed stood there for quite a while, in fact. Armin wondered if it were possible for him to be even more anxious than Eren, as he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and feared Eren could feel it.

Eren didn't smell of much. He was clean, and if Armin had been bold enough to draw his hands through Eren's scruffy hair, he would have found it soft and smelling faintly of Mikasa's shampoo. There was, however, no odour of cologne or deodorant (Jean had always smelt of a certain expensive smelling perfume), just a soft, homely sense about the boy, with his own smell faint behind the fabric of his jumper.

He didn't notice Eren open his mouth three times, trying to say something but each time failing. And, alas, when the moment passed and they broke apart, whatever Eren had wanted to say was no longer appropriate, or was in some way lost, and Armin never knew.

They ended up sitting beneath the pillar for quite a while, letting night fall around the like it always did; except, this evening, it was quiet and noticed by the pair, who watched the clouds turn pink, purple and the sky slowly fading to a light-polluted black over the skyline of the city.

Armin was glad he'd bought his jacket again by 6, pulling it around him subtly so Eren wouldn't notice him starting to feel the cold. He was distracted by the lights of the gate, finding in them unmatched wonder. Armin wanted to admire the way he looked at them, his eyes twinkling, his dark skin a warm hue, his soft lips slightly parted but still, miles away from the frantic inhaling of twenty minutes previously. On the notebook beside him, the only thing written, in relatively small letters at the top of the page, was his small apology, and beneath, a frustrated scribble on which he'd pressed down so hard on the page that he'd made a little tear, the dried biro glistening slightly in the dim light.

"Um… Do you like history, then?"

Eren frowned.

_Modern history only, ancient history is boring._

"What… Wait… You… We took that busy street because you wanted to come here, didn't you?" Eren didn't need to reply; his expression told Armin everything. If it weren't for the fact that Eren's panic attack had been terrifying for both of them, it seemed quite heroic, really. "Why the Brandenburg Gate? I-If you don't mind me asking. W-Wait, it has to do with modern history, I get that…"

_My family is East German._ _They don't talk about it, but I think if I understood history more then maybe…_ He stopped writing, looked at Armin, and then scribbled out the last bit, replacing it with _I'm not really smart like you so I don't get much in school, but stuff about the Wall is really interesting. So I like coming here and remembering all that doesn't exist anymore._

"So do you come here a lot then?"

Eren stretched out his legs, scowling at his feet, before shaking his head.

Something about the way Eren acted inclined Armin not to pursue the conversation any further. He supposed if Eren had that kind of reaction to crowds, he'd probably be inclined to avoid tourist hot-spots such as this: but then, there seemed to be something missing. It was true, he was interested in modern history, the enthusiasm had been clear from all the way at the back of class, but what did this all have to do with his family being East German? Armin was under the impression it didn't really matter these days- kids being born these days had parents who were born after the Wall fell, so it was becoming less and less relevant, even to older children like Eren.

After a few minutes of what felt like tense silence, Eren got to his feet, stretching his arms out like an awkward cat before turning to Armin and offering him a hand up. Armin accepted, blushing, but calmed down once again when he was told _I'll walk you back._

They didn't hold hands after that. It wasn't necessary, of course. Armin had kept an eye on Eren to begin with, but he began to see the rising irritation in Eren's expression, and stopped, choosing to look quietly down at his own feet instead. He felt as if he'd screwed up somehow- he'd been doing so well in getting to know Eren, and suddenly it was as if Eren had frozen him out, becoming the silent, scowling boy the rest of the world knew him as. It was selfish to wonder if Mikasa would be annoyed at having sent him back in a despondent state, having made no progress in helping him in whatever way he was supposed to be helping him; yet that was the first thing he thought about as Eren bade him goodbye absent-mindedly, not looking Armin in the eye.

Even if it was too dark to see far enough in the cold evening air, Armin didn't stay long enough on the porch of his apartment block to see Eren turn back to look at him at the end of the street. Indeed, nor did Armin notice Eren taking the wrong turning, wandering away from his own apartment block with is hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his face obscured by the shadow of his hood.

**(When I used the word "homely" to describe the way Armin finds Eren's smell, I of course mean that Eren has his own natural scent like everyone one else, but I also wanted to use the German word "heimlich"- which means "homely", but is also the opposite of "unheimlich", the German originally used by Freud to talk about what we refer to as the "uncanny". Unfortunately, y'all would have Google Translated it which gives you the wrong meaning.**

**Freud, while his work is sexist trash, is worth studying (literature-wise only) if you take his work as a single analysis and apply it as a metaphor, eg, penis envy in literature, but supplementing the word "penis" in his theory with "power" and essentially finding yourself with a feminist critique that gives insight on how a character might act for a certain reason. Freud you should perhaps think about if you want to know where this is going. Also the Berlin Wall. Which is a metaphor for the SNK canon, yes, but I also really like German history... Plus, insight into Eren/Mikasa's motivations yeaaaahhhh)**


	7. Example

Armin's mum was quietly bemused to come home to find her son cooking dinner with his phone in one hand. The truth was, he'd argued with himself all the way up the three flights of stairs about apologising to Eren. He considered ringing him, wondering if Eren could talk over the phone, before remembering that even he himself got nervous over the phone and therefore it would be thousands of times worse for someone who couldn't even talk to him indirectly. This was where the idea for messaging came from- after all, most of Eren's communication was of the written kind, so surely a text would be nice.

Except he didn't have Eren's phone number.

He did, however, have Mikasa's, as she'd given it to him before leaving the science classroom, in the form of a neatly folded piece of paper hooked into his jeans pocket. He'd almost forgotten it, and was pleased to find it still in his pocket, more crumpled but still wholly intact.

**Hi Mikasa, could I have Eren's phone number? :)**

As he'd been chopping the onions, she'd called him. She was certainly less intimidating over the phone, but it wasn't as easy to pick up on the subtleties in her voice that made conversations with her so fixating and memorable.

"Armin?"

"Uh…" He nearly dropped the phone as he adjusted it against his ear, before coughing nervously and continuing, "Hi Mikasa."

"When did Eren leave you?"

"Um… It must have been about… about 45 minutes ago, maybe, I think." He scraped the onions into the pan, and cursed as the oil spat at him. He'd left it on heat to long before adding the ingredients, he'd been distracted.

"You're at home," Mikasa surmised quietly in his ear.

"Yeah." The more verbose Armin would have made a joke about burning the onions, but Armin as he was was even loath the say, "Eren dropped me back. A-Are you telling me he's not home?"

There was a silence, in which Armin listened to the slight buzz of static in his ear. Mikasa was somewhere quiet- probably at home- so why was she whispering?

Armin should probably keep his nose out, but he couldn't help but be interested by the dynamics of Eren's family. Mikasa should have been a warning sign: she obviously cared about Eren and that was nice, Armin thought, but she was almost obsessive sometimes and other times letting him go out alone with Armin, despite the fact he'd had a panic attack and Armin hadn't known how to deal with it. And then there was Eren's reactions to her, and the talk of his family. His reactions to Mikasa weren't stable; plus, it bugged Armin that Eren had talked about his "family" whereas Mikasa had only mentioned "Eren's mum". Did he consider her family while she detached herself from Eren and his mother? Or was Eren talking about someone else- a dad, maybe?

Armin wouldn't call him and his mum a "family". They'd never done family things, nor had either of them tried to live up to any social roles that being in a family might bring about. Though it was possible, he considered, that Eren thought differently on such matters.

"What did you do?"

"Oh… This afternoon? We, er… We wandered, I guess- after Jean and Eren had had another fight- and ended up at the Brandenburg Gate after Eren kind of had a panic attack."

"The Brandenburg Gate?" Her voice was sharp, like a pin in a balloon.

"That's what you picked up on? He… He had a panic attack. And you've not answered my question," Armin frowned. The onions were burning. "I know Eren can fend for himself, but he didn't seem right when he left me but I figured it wasn't too long until he got home and saw you and you'd probably understand better. Except, right now, you're trying to keep things from me. If you want me to help you and help him, then both of you have to trust me a little bit."

After he closed his mouth, Armin once again found himself hating himself for having said too much. Mikasa's slightly menacing aura evidently had its positives as well as negatives.

After a few seconds of thick, fuzzy silence, Armin heard the tone to indicate Mikasa had hung up.

He slammed his phone on the counter and took the now browned onions off the heat. Maybe it was none of his business, but then why had Mikasa been so inclined to ask for his help? It unnerved him still, because he wasn't sure in what way he was supposed to be "helping" anyone. If that afternoon had been anything to go off, Armin had just stirred up some things Eren obviously hadn't wanted to discuss, and done a bad job with helping with his panic attack.  
>Suddenly, the image of Eren looking up at him from under his eyelashes, pupils blown wide as if he were on drugs, his lips parted in light arousal, flashed into Armin's mind, and he blushed a deep crimson colour, shaking his head to rid himself of the memory.<p>

Deciding to distract himself, Armin set about salvaging the pasta he'd been trying to make before he'd been so untimely distracted. It wasn't as if he stopped thinking of Eren, the same questions still repeating themselves at the fore of his mind, but he blocked out the negative things, instead smiling to himself about how nice it had been to talk about stuff in general with him. It had been a while since Armin had done that with someone of his own age. Eren had indeed shown a genuine interest in Armin when he talked about schoolwork and exams; whereas with Jean, the conversations were at best strained, where neither side was listening to what the other was saying, just obnoxiously putting across their own point of view with Marco playing referee.

About a minute and a half before Armin's mother walked through the front door of their poky flat, Armin's phone buzzed. He'd almost forgotten about it, yet there it was, flashing away by the microwave as if it had been watching him muse. He snatched it up. A message from Mikasa.

**004930523437 and tell him Grisha isn't in.**

Who on earth was Grisha, and why was he important to a boy who was out on his own in the dark on a school night, following a panic attack?

Armin didn't have time for Mikasa's strange ways at the moment, and vowed to text her later once she'd had time to mull his words over. For the moment, he rushed to input Eren's number, drafting a text he hoped didn't sound too clingy.

**Hi Eren, it's Armin, Mikasa gave me your number. Apparently you're still out? I'm really sorry if I upset you, I'm not very good at picking up when's a bad time so I really didn't mean it. Mikasa says Grisha isn't in, idk what that means but if you're avoiding going home then please don't stay out in the cold, you're welcome to have pasta with us? :)**

He considered putting a daring little kiss on the end, but it seemed cheap, so he abstained, sending the message quickly and continuing to clutch the phone while he drained the pasta, for his mum to then walk in and for them to pursue the tail of normality.

"Do you want to know the secret ingredient?" he mumbled into his food. His voice was too monotonous for his mum to work out that it was a question, but that was fine. She was always too tired to answer. "It's chilli oil." The addition hung in the air, rang in Armin's ears, contrasted too heavily with the dull clinking of their knives and forks against the white plastic-esque bowls from which they ate. Sometimes he wondered if this was how his entire life would play out: nothing more than monotony and a weary silence.

"Does that have to be there," his mum asked, nodding half-heartedly at his phone on the right side of his placemat, blank screen staring up at him as if in jest of his loneliness.

Except she was interrupted in continuing her point: not by the phone, unfortunately, but by the buzzer at the front of the flat. It had been so long since it had last rang that Armin had forgotten what it sounded like. He could tell, however, that the electronic resonance had some sort of loose connection as even though it was a relatively short ring, the sharp edge was clearly audible as the tone echoed through their apartment.

Armin took his phone with him, pointedly, when he went to answer it.

"Hello?" When was the last time they had used the intercom? Maybe one day, they would be able to afford to live a little and order pizza to deliver, and he'd get to use it again.

For a few seconds, there was no reply.

"Armin, come down."

His heart skipped a beat. He was pretty sure he couldn't mistake that rare voice anywhere; though he had to admit, it was strange hearing Eren talk normally, as opposed to throwing out callous base emotions or intoning an ephemeral whisper. Without romanticising Eren's problems, it seemed a beautiful moment all the same. There was almost a hint of desperation, and Armin's heart started racing as he was suddenly struck with the image of Eren that morning, a pen behind his ear, aura brightening as his eyes met Armin's across the classroom.

Armin cursed himself internally as he hurriedly let himself out of the flat and began pounding down the stairs, almost tripping into the wall opposite him on the landing. Eren must have dropped Armin back just after half 6, after they'd taken the tram to avoid the busy streets in the centre of the city, and after having made his way upstairs, crashing out face-down on his bed in despair at having upset Eren, picking himself up to make dinner, texting Mikasa, salvaging dinner and then serving said meal and eating, time had taken its steady toll. Judging by the time on Armin's phone, Eren had been outside a good hour and ten. Sure, Mikasa hadn't said either way whether Eren had gone back or not, but he wagered she wouldn't have rang him if she weren't genuinely concerned, as she didn't seem to be one to take a route of logic that would perpetuate idle chit-chat. Neither of the siblings were what one might be inclined to call effusive, in that way.  
>No wonder Eren had sounded desperate.<p>

Armin didn't hesitate before tearing the front door open. Perhaps he should have, as thought may have deterred him from such a dramatic action, and might have given him a chance to remind himself that the boy stood on the doorstep was one who made his heart clench and his mouth turn visibly down at the corners.

Eren looked surprised to see him.

"Eren! You must be freezing!" He could see his breath in the light of the hallway, and it was obvious from the way he was huddled into his jumper that Armin wasn't wrong. "Why don't you come up? I-I really am sorry about before, I won't ask questions if you don't… Eren?"

Armin had seen Eren's face without the glow of recognition. After all, Eren had only been attending the same school for a few weeks, and they'd only started properly getting to know each other in the past few days. That, and Eren having a panic attack had quite obviously been unaware of Armin's presence, too consumed with what looked like a crushing, mortal fear of something Armin could not see. The expression Eren wore on the doorstep of Armin's apartment building wasn't one of non-recognition, but in the same way, there was something not quite right about the way the light registered in his eyes.

The dark-haired boy took a step forward, holding Armin's eye contact. He looked like he had a purpose for being there, on Armin's doorstep. He didn't look like he wanted to say something, not this time, but he did come across as having something he wanted to otherwise communicate.

That was, until he turned on his heel and sprinted back down the street, leaving nothing but a frustrated Armin and the sound of scuffing trainers etched into his short term memory.

* * *

><p><strong>004930523437 is Germany's country code, Berlin's area code, and then JAEGER spelt on a phone keypad. I hope y'all appreciate my subtle sense of humour, even if the coding probably makes it a landline rather than a mobile. In Germany, they call a mobile "ein Handy", which I really wanted to use, but again, I didn't want to call it that in case I confused everybody. I'm probably confusing everyone as is by saying "mobile" rather than "cell".<strong>


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